As it is
by flamablechoklit
Summary: Read along as I lie to my instructors and use Matty for many class-related pieces! They're fun, I promise.
1. Purely Observational

**AN: **Mehh... This style is much too bland for my taste, but hey, these got me an A on the assignment so I figure they must be alright, ne?  
Small object, place, person; the assignment was to write a physical description for each, in thrid person limited for the...well, person. You have no idea how difficult this was for me O_O  
I wanted so badly to just crawl inside Matty's head and explain things. -But I didn't. Hooray for self control.  
I'll save the rest of my babble for the second AN.

* * *

A pair of ski goggles hang from a door knob.  
A small tear begins to fray the middle of the strap, from which they are suspended.  
The course material itself is a faded shade of black, as opposed to the dark onyx of compressed charcoal.  
The orange tinted lenses cast colors on the floor when shown through by the sun.  
This pair smells faintly of cigarette smoke. Its white frames slick with grime, this pair should soon meet the washing machine.

* * *

This college dwelling leaves much to be desired. From the overlapping smells of musk and Axe Body Spray, to the discarded ramen noodle packages strewn about the ugly brown carpet, the place is just plain messy.

A yellowing window stands opposite the doorway.  
Grime and mildew snake up the once pristine surface, covering the lower portion of glass.  
This darkens the room slightly, as the still well-to-do upper half shows through clearly, despite a few water spots.

On the faded brown carpet, directly under the window, sits a stain the size of a standard cooking pot.  
The splotch of unknown origin holds a faint scent of gasoline, and looks as though it may have thinned the carpeting under it.

A tall floor lamp in a corner provides no light with it's burnt out bulb. Video game cartridges sit abandoned around an X-Box 360 platform, perhaps the only well cared for thing in the room.  
The platform's wires crawl over the floor and connect to a television set, which itself does not appear neglected. Across from the television is a couch that appears to have been manufactured in the 1970's.  
Upon the back rest of the out-dated and moldy old couch, lies a dinghy, yellow sock. It seems, quite literally, encrusted onto the fabric, assumingly for a few months due to the moth-eaten appearance and nausea inducing smell.

* * *

Being illuminated by only the artificial glow of the bulky television on the left wall, this space is  
tinted a sickly green. A zigzagging crack runs the length of the popcorn ceiling in the small room,  
only ending at the abrupt drop off created by the wall. This wall in particular appears darker compared  
to the other three, with the television at its base unable to reflect any light upon it.

A shock of too-bright-to-be-natural crimson hair sits shaggily atop a pale, lanky body. The red mop  
is disheveled and a bit greasy at the roots, its caretaker muttering what sounds like complete gibberish  
into some type of headset every few seconds. The head set, composed of a thin band and tiny  
microphone at the end, sits atop the fiery mess in an almost natural looking way.

With cheek bones and a jaw line too prominent to be feminine, the face appears ghostly pale with  
the help of the eerie glow emitted by the television screen. His eyes, fixed on the screen, show  
startlingly green, and a light dusting of freckles decorates his upper cheeks and nose. When he's not  
mumbling he bites at his bottom lip in concentration. Not yet breaking the skin, his abnormally white  
teeth grind against the appendage, causing it to swell and redden. Below his ever-working jaw sit a  
pair of orange frames, attached to a black strap that hangs from his slender neck.

His back is hunched as he sits cross legged on the floor, elbows resting on his knees.

A red and black horizontally striped shirt clashes horribly with the flaming bush atop his head. The  
collar of said top sits unusually, exposing the boy's prominent collar bone and a good portion of his  
shoulders, the garment itself fitting him rather loosely. The full sleeves have been cut and pinned at  
the ends, leaving holes for his thumbs to toil through.

This boy's hands work furiously, jerking occasionally and nearly pulling the X-Box controller he's  
got right out of its socket. Spindly fingers with stubby, bitten nails hold the device steady, while his  
thumbs smash unmercifully at the buttons.

Jeans hang around his hips. Thin black stripes encircle his legs in intervals from thigh to  
ankle, giving the denim attire a sort of patch-work appearance. Noticeably faded, they're colored a  
light blue, while the hems around his ankles turn to white as they begin to fray apart. Poking out from  
under his knees, due to his legs being crossed, a pair of black and white socks, in what other  
pattern but stripes.

* * *

**AN: **We were supposed to actually go observe some person doing something...and go to a real room...and look at a real object... Fuck reality. I live in Miranda (that would be my name) Land.  
And in Miranda Land, Matt was sitting in a really shitty college dorm room playing Xbox live. So there. I win.  
Initially I was going to use Mello for this assignment, until someone made me think about it. When I write Mello, I cannot restrain myself and everything becomes a sexual innuendo (if you haven't noticed).  
Also, it'd probably be a bit hard to explain to my teacher that I "really do" know a leather wearing, blonde, chocoholic who keeps a gun in the waistband of his pants...  
Sooo, due to Mello's eccentric greatness, and Death Note's governing over my brain, I went for Matty instead.

Review, I mean, if you like not having your brain matter splattered all over the wall... x]


	2. Profile: Mail Jeevas

**AN: **Ahhh, here we have the profile I turned in for a composition class last week. This is the story my instructor/class got: "Oh there's this weird looking guy I always see at Panache' (local cyber cafe) and I think he'd be a really cool subject (insert big smile and batting of the eyelashes here)". In short, I win. As my friend Alice (who sits next to me in this particular class and KNOWS who this is actually written about) says, "It's lies! All lies!" She couldn't be more right.

* * *

Always with the laptops, always with the stripes, always with that oh so noticeably dyed red hair. The same table, every week from mid-June on he's been there, and I intend to find out why.

He's hard to miss. You'd have to put in some serious effort not to notice this guy in a regular, every day setting; His fashion sense just reaches right out and slaps you across the face.  
I'll start with the ever-present stripes. Each day I've seen this guy (which has been on average twice a week for about two months) he's had on at least one piece of clothing with vertical or horizontal stripes. _Every day._ Most people don't even own a single striped shirt, let alone the array of striped accessories this guy seems to have stashed away in his wardrobe. In fact, I know of only one store that actually sells stripes on a regular basis… Really gets you wondering where on earth this guy shops.

While on the topic of his get-up, I should mention the goggles. Yes, that's right, goggles. They're not glasses, they're not "shades", they're not "spectacles"; they are goggles. And oh, no, not regular swimming goggles; these things are full-on rave gear. And, you see, the thing about rave goggles is that they're meant to be worn _at a rave._ Panache every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon between the hours of one and four pm is most certainly not a rave. So, what is this guy doing with the orange-lensed, white framed eyewear? I have no idea, but I intend to find out.

On a few occasions, such as today, I arrive at Panache before him. Now, I come here for the wifi. This guy, however, seems to move with a purpose over to that same table every day, where he proceeds to lift the (rave) goggles from his eyes (they find purchase around his forehead) and set up his laptops. Laptops, as in plural; He has two. I wonder, what does he need two laptops handy at the same time for? I watch as he takes his seat and lowers the goggles around his eyes again. He powers up the laptops and scratches his head simultaneously, in turn ruffling his hair.

Oh, that hair. It's been chemically treated , I can tell from the damage at the roots (Mind you, I'm sitting a good six feet away from him.), but other than that it looks healthy enough. His hair parts (naturally from the looks of it) on a spot off to one side and slightly past the crown of his head. The roots are greasy there, and more of an auburn brown color, which offsets the fire-engine-red dye covering the rest of his slightly shaggy mop. Yes, it's dye, because no one's hair is naturally that bright.

I'll sit here for another few minutes until I peck up the courage to approach him. Then again, just sitting here watching him is potentially creepier than just talking to him…

"Hello," I blurt out, coming to stand next to his table. His fingers stop their frenzied dance across the keyboard. He jabs a finger at a button (presumably the pause switch) and turns slightly to his left to look at me. I smile and ask if I can have a seat next to him. He nods, albeit every slowly. (I really hope he hasn't noticed me staring at him for the past few days. That would just make this entire situation ten times as awkward.) I sit down, probably coming off like a complete creep as I whip out my notebook and pen, and smile at him. "My name is (flamablechoklit), it's nice to meet you," I start simply and hold my hand out. (I've found that a firm handshake is a great way to break the ice.) He takes it and shakes.

"Mail," he says with the hint of an accent. And somehow, his voice and name fit him perfectly.  
I continue with small talk, telling him I am a student looking for an interesting profile subject (which seems to catch his interest), and eventually ask him for an interview. "It all depends on what you'd be asking me," he says casually, "Would it be about my job or life or what? I mean, I'm just meeting you so this is pretty weird." We both laugh and I have to voice my agreement.

"Yes, yes it is. But I think I have a way with people, you know? Anyway, I just thought you looked like an interesting person to talk to. It can be about whatever you're comfortable telling me." He gives me this lopsided, calm, ever so fitting grin and nods quickly in approval (like a puppy). He copies down his email address in my notebook and scribbles his name in boyish handwriting under it. This earns him a quizzical look from me. "I'm not sure how to pronounce that," I admit while squinting at his writing.

"Mail is pronounced like the distance increment," he tells me understandingly, "and my last name, Jeevas, is said like 'geev-us'. It's Polish." Again, it just seems to fit him perfectly. (It also explains the accent and perhaps even the odd attire.) After the interview is scheduled we talk for a few more minutes before I leave. "Come up with some good questions for me," he calls as I pack up, "Nothing boring!"

The scheduled date finds me sitting at Panache, ready and waiting with my pen, notebook and stick-recorder, hoping that Mail didn't decide to bail out on me. Alas, he walks in just as the clock strikes four pm, but there's something off about him today… He doesn't have his laptops!

"Hey," I greet him as he sits down opposite me, "you didn't bring your stuff?"

"Well I didn't think it'd be polite to work while you're trying to talk to me," he reasons. Touché.

"Oh, those are for work? Well then that'll be my first question; Mister Mail Jeevas, what do you do for a living?"

"I'm a part time student at Bloomsburg University, major in computer programming, but I have an internship with Sony so I get shipped all over the place. S'long as it doesn't interfere with school it's not an issue; they pay for almost everything." I feel my eyebrows lift of their own accord in amazement.

"Sony? As in Playstation?"

"That's the one. I'm hoping to beta for them soon."

"You do realize how completely awesome that is, right?" He does what I have now deemed the 'puppy-nod' again. Good, I'm glad he realizes how totally cool his job is.  
After some quick video game banter I finally ask the question I've been wondering about since I first saw his weird wardrobe. "Alright, I'm sure you get this a lot, but I have to ask. What's up with the goggles?"

"You're actually the first to ask me that," he says sitting back in his chair, "I'm pretty sure most people just think I'm weird and leave it at that." I point out that most people don't wear goggles on a daily basis. He chuckles. "Yea I suppose, but I'm actually extremely photosensitive. And they reduce the glare on computer and television screens," he explains. Everything is starting to make so much sense now, it's crazy. In hopes of shedding more light on his choice of clothing, I ask him about his stripe obsession (not using those words, mind you). "Ah, yea, now that one I get a lot," he sighs amusedly and continues, "Honestly, I have no idea. I'm just drawn to stripes. My roommate has a better sense of style though, so I let him pick out my more formal stuff, but the stripes are kind of a signature thing for me. Weird, right?" Definitely, Mail, but I can relate.

I've been glancing up at his hair every few minutes, none too subtly it seems, because eventually he says good-naturedly, "And no, it's not natural."  
Sensing to avoid the subject of his birth country, I move on to his current schooling. "Well I already told you I'm majoring in computer programming. I live on campus eight months out of the year and go where ever Sony wants me the other four. My roommate is a PA native so he's in that area most of the time."

"What's your roommate like?"

"Obnoxious. Rude. Overbearing… My best friend," he offers with that same lopsided grin. Now that was just adorable. "He's majoring in business law. They stuck him in my building by mistake freshman year and we just never got around to correcting it."

"Well that worked out well for the two of you." (I get the feeling this 'best friend' might be something more but I don't push the topic. I know my boundaries.) We chat about friends, school, the weather, pretty much everything. Then I catch sight of the time and remember my entire reason for talking to him in the first place (you know, other than the fact that he's one of the coolest people I've ever met); We've been here nearly two hours already.

"So to wrap things up—"

"In a striped ribbon?" I snort loudly at this, disturbing our fellow costumers. He laughs too.

"_In closing_," I start again giving him a mock stern look, "Why is it, Mail, that you come to Panache?" I glance at the recorder to make sure it's on, pen in hand and ready to quote.

"For the wifi," he says lamely. I give him a look. He is amused. "Hm, not climactic enough for you?"

"No."

* * *

**AN: **See??? Wasn't that beleivable??? I think it was, and evidently so did my instructor. HAH! Review loves.

_"Why didn't we just tell him the truth?"  
"BECAUSE LYING IS FUN!"  
_-YGOTAS


End file.
